“Good plan.” She goes outside. “Hello, Teddy, oh helllllooooo cheese.” They begin cutting into the cheese, squeaking knives and banter aplenty.
“Renata’s revving up the scooter as we speak,” Teddy warns us, assembling a palmful of preloaded crackers for more efficient scoffing. He hands me one with a small flourish.
“I think it would be better if you left,” I tell him as kindly as I can. He reacts like he’s never been so hurt. “This is something that I want to keep private.”
“Aren’t we friends?” He’s got me there. “If you’re worried I’m going to tell my dad or Sylvia that you’re doing this, I won’t. I just want to help.”
“Ah, just let him stay. He’s impossible to get rid of.” Melanie gives me a single sheet of paper. “I want you to sign this first.”
It’s something resembling a waiver.
“‘In participating in the Sasaki Method (hereby referred to as ‘the Method’), Ruthie Maree Midona’—ah, so that’s why you asked my middle name—‘acknowledges that she does so on a voluntary basis and is able to opt out at any point in the process.’”
“But I hope you don’t,” Melanie interjects.
I continue reading. “‘She waives, releases, and discharges Melanie Sasaki from any and all liability, including but not limited to the following that may result from following the Method.’”
I read out loud the following events I am indemnifying her against:
Hurt feelings
Unfulfilled expectations
Emotional turmoil or distress as a result of online dating
Being murdered by a blind date (Teddy chokes on his mouthful)
Costs associated with unplanned pregnancy (my turn to choke)
Miscellaneous expenses incurred from any recommended physical presentation improvements, hereby known as “the Makeover”
Any costs associated with the inevitable wedding that shall result from participation in the Method
“Initial each,” she instructs.
I hesitate for a long moment on the hurt feelings. “You are a very creative person. Where’d you get this template?”
She watches my pen, halted on the signature line. “I found one online and modified it. The most important part is that you agree that this is voluntary. And down at the bottom you see that I copyright the term the Sasaki Method. I mean, I would if I knew how. What I’m saying is, don’t steal my amazing idea, you guys. I’m getting rich from this one day.”
“I’m happy to sign that,” I try to not sound too dry. “But I want a confidentiality clause.”
“I didn’t make one.”
I look at the son of Jerry Prescott. He’s currently eyes closed, blissful and chewing.
I write an amendment: All information regarding Ruthie Maree Midona’s participation in the Method will remain strictly confidential.
“We all sign. Whatever happens, I want it to stay between us. I’m also adding a clause here that says we will not discuss or participate in the Method during working hours. No resources from the office are to be used.”
Melanie replies, “Whoops, too late. I’ve stolen nine sheets of paper and half a spoonful of ink. Sorry, Teddy, I’ll pay your dad back. But the binder, I bought specially with my own money.”
“Relax, I’m not gonna tell him.” Teddy takes the pen and signs next to my amendments when it’s his turn. It’s a surprising signature, very adult-man, and would look right at home on real estate contracts. “Or am I? Maybe I’m a corporate spy, sent to investigate all the minor paper thefts going on around here.”
I’m starting to notice that he always checks to see if I laugh at his jokes. When I smile, he lounges back in his seat and eats grapes like life is grand. Melanie and I sign the document too.
“Breaker, breaker,” the walkie-talkie squawks. “Fashion Victim incoming, over.”
“I don’t mind this one,” Melanie confides in me. “She makes me feel like getting old won’t be too scary.”